Memories
by Umeko
Summary: What memories can a little trinket bring back for you? An insight into various relationships between the characters through their memories. some fluff, some angst, some friendship...
1. Butterfly in Amber

Disclaimer: I do not own Trinity Blood or its characters (alas), otherwise, why would I be doing fanfic?

The premise for this series is the time capsule. You put away some stuff intentionally or otherwise with very special meaning to you (e.g first baby tooth, graduation photo, Granny's handmade teddy). Then a decade or so later, you come across them again and reminiscence about the past. This will be a series of viewpoints into various relationships in the series.

I'm starting with the Empire's Methuselahs.

* * *

**Butterfly in Amber**

Mirka Fortuna, Duchess of Moldova, heaved her purchases into her room. Nothing like a spot of retail therapy to relax her nerves after all the high drama of the recent months. The Byzantium high street was chock-full of high ends stores that catered to the tastes of the nobility. Of course, a high-ranking noblewoman like her could easily summon the dressmakers to her rooms with a snap of her fingers, but she enjoyed the chance to observe the other shoppers and citizens of the city. In addition, her mansion would have to be rebuilt from the ground up after it was razed by that fire. For now, she took up temporary residence in a guest suite in the palace, courtesy of the Empress.

A practical woman, she did not waste time on fretting about Ion once she received a letter from him. Knowing he was in the company of Her Majesty's brother was sufficient guarantee of his safety. Abel Nightroad would never let anything harm a friend. The plans for her new mansion and the rebuilding of the family mausoleum were drawn up and she was looking forward to when they would be ready. It would take some months for the pink marble to be shipped in for the mausoleum. Thankfully, the granite sarcophagi favoured in the Empire ensured the easy recovery of the remains of the Fortuna ancestors.

The mansion was another matter. Her gardens had survived but she would have to re-furnish the mansion once it's ready… The blast and ensuing fire ensured the complete destruction of many… A twinge of regret washed over her. The cleanup was still in progress. Occasionally, the servants would bring in some item that had survived, sooty pewter tea-set, a slightly charred photo album… The tea-set was an heirloom and the photo album contained the photos of her long-dead daughter. Yes, there was some comfort in those small items, even as she chided herself for being silly. They were only material stuff. Her mother and daughter would always be in her memories as long as she lived.

Mirka turned her attention to hanging up her new dresses. The cream silk one was a match with the pearl-studded sandals… Maybe she should have bought the turquoise shawl instead of the pale blue one… With a smile, she started humming a little melody, only to be interrupted by a soft tapping on the door.

"Excuse me, Your Grace. The workers found this in the rubble," a young Imperial guardsman bowed courteously and presented her with a sooty, misshapen lump the size of a clenched fist. "It is amber, isn't it?" he added as she took it from him. Mirka nodded, wiped it with her handkerchief and held it up to the lamplight. "Yes, it is."

It was an exceptionally clear piece, almost with the clarity of coloured glass under the soot. She saw the butterfly, proud wings outstretched as if in flight in the golden liquid. "You may return to your post." The guardsman bowed and took his leave, leaving her with the amber lump. She sat down by the dresser and started to polish it, her new dresses, accessories and shoes forgotten for now...

* * *

Three centuries ago, the Academy hallway bustled with life as various young nobles filed out from their lessons like they did since the earliest days of the Empire. "The Duke's outta kill us. Do you believe he's put us down for foot drills until fall?" "Did you hear? The Countess of Kandahar's retiring to get married, so who's the new Court Protocol teacher?" "I hear it's…" "You dare give my fiancée a rose?!" A scuffle broke out as two young men are engaged in a fistfight. "Break it up!" A dark-skinned youth barked over the din. The fighters continued.

"You heard the hall monitor! BREAK IT UP!" A shrill voice sliced through the din like a knife. A deathly hush fell over the hallway. The fighters stopped fighting, got to their feet and muttered a hasty apology to the monitor and a blond-haired girl. They then scurried away like frightened mice. _No one crosses a Fortuna woman and lives,_ so the stories went.

"My heartfelt thanks, Lady Fortuna," Suleyman thanked his classmate with a courtly flourish, only to have it waved aside.

"Well? Has your father agreed to let us borrow his books for our history project?" Mirka asked. She was practical with little time to waste on sentimentality. All the Fortunas were pragmatists. A few more years of education were still needed to work on her refinement. Mirka wore a modest, unadorned dress, her hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The effect made her look a lot older than her fifteen years. Suleyman nodded resignedly.

* * *

"Shouldn't there be a chaperon? My aunt's away and…" Suleyman blushed furiously. Protocol dictated interactions between a young unmarried man and woman must be in the presence of an older female.

"Trust me, Suleyman. I don't need a chaperon for a history report." _If you do anything out of line, I will turn you inside-out. _Suleyman gulped nervously.

The Fortuna mansion was spartanly furnished and utilitarian in those days. Her grandmother and mother's philosophy to life was 'Keep it simple.' Mirka's first visit to her classmate's villa was like a visit to a cave of wonders. Suleyman's father collected curios and antiques from all ages and places. For a while, she was astounded by the fine tapestries, ivory cravings and Chinese vases. Suleyman proudly showed off his family's vast collection before they adjourned to the study. It was in his father's study that she first encountered the fossilized golden resin. Her gaze was drawn to it the minute she completed her report. It sat on the writing table, glinting in the lamplight, the butterfly frozen as if ready to embark on flight.

"It's so pretty," she peered at the butterfly, admiring its delicate iridescent violet-blue wings through the golden haze. "Well, you can keep it," Suleyman said offhandedly. He was too busy poring over a book to notice it was his father's prized amber he has just given away. When he did, he went pale.

"Are you sure it's alright? It's so beautiful. It must be very special…." Her sharp eyes noted the change in his demeanour. "It's alright!" Suleyman squeaked.

"Are you ill? You look very pale."

"I'm fine. There, I've done my part of the report. You should go home, before it gets too late…" he hurriedly replaced the book he was reading.

"Sure. See you tomorrow at the Academy." Mirka took her leave. The amber made its way to the Fortuna mansion, where it stayed for the next three hundred years.

* * *

Suleyman did not show up at the Academy for lessons the next day or the rest of the week. Mirka would only find out much later how Suleyman had been soundly whipped and grounded by his father. He lied and told his father he had dropped the butterfly-amber into the fireplace. Amber burns when heated. It was a miracle it had survived the inferno at her mansion intact.

Three hundred years later, Mirka smiled fondly at the memory. She looked out of her windows into the Imperial gardens, where colourful butterflies fluttered in the breeze. She gently placed the amber on the writing table of the guest-suite. The wings of the butterfly shimmered as if ready to fly proudly from its amber prison.

"Suleyman, you always were a fool," she whispered softly.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

I let Mirka and Suleyman be classmates. Yes, Mirka is a bit scary in her younger days. Maybe she is still scary now. I got inspired by the manga's depiction of a young Suleyman's encounter with a flower-seller (you know who) at the beach.

Amber is fossilized prehistoric tree sap and is found over northern Europe and as far east as the Urals. Famous sources of amber include the Baltic, Russia and the Ukraine. It seems very apt to use this substance as a time capsule. Occasionally insects are trapped in the sap and fossilized in this manner, turning it into a record of prehistoric life like the one from Jurassic Park. Of course, a specimen like Mirka's will be very valuable, as butterfly fossils are extremely rare.

In Eastern culture, the butterfly is representative of the soul.


	2. Kites on the Roof

Disclaimer: I do not own Trinity Blood or its characters.

This will be a series of viewpoints into various relationships in the series.

You know this was coming. Ion-Radu. It's friendship, folks, no yaoi, might be a hint of shonen-ai.

* * *

**Kites on the Roof**

"Radu, I can't sleep! My first mission Outside, fancy that!" Ion Fortuna complained to a very drowsy Radu Barvon over the phone. Radu decided he didn't really need this, not when he's slated to accompany some unknown envoy to meet the Vatican's Duchess of Milan in Cartago the following day. His superior had been secretive about the envoy's identity. No doubt it would be the Duchess of Moldova, the Empress' right hand. It was after all, an important mission. Still, he couldn't hang up.

"I can't tell you the details, but it's very important mission, Grandmother told me so!" Ion chirped. Knowing Ion, he would think going to the flower-store to pick up his Grandmother's weekend lilies was exciting. Still, Radu faked interest. "That's great!"

"Really?" Ion replied and bounced on his four-poster bed. He ran a hand through his hair. "Radu, it's so long since we last went out together… Can we meet up, now?" He looked up at the colourful kite hanging on his bedroom wall. Its original bright red colour had faded, but it was still in good shape.

"Now?" Radu grated. Unfortunately for him, Ion took his words for assent. "See you!" Ion bid a fond farewell before hanging up. Radu sighed. He knew he had only five to ten minutes to get dressed before his best friend knocks on his front door. Being a low-rank baron, he lived in a modest townhouse in the city's Methuselah sector after selling his family manor to settle his late father's gambling debts.

Ten minutes later, Ion was standing on his doorstep, his blond hair shining in the soft moonlight and a wide grin on his face. "Look what I found! Brings back memories, huh?" In his hand was the kite. A wave of nostalgia washed over him. The kite they had made together as boys, flown together from the lawn of the Fortuna mansion on lazy summer days so long ago…

* * *

Arms folded, a young Radu Barvon watched with amusement as Ion struggled with a kite. The blond boy huffed and puffed as he ran, dragging his kite behind him. Between his father's gambling and his mother's love of vodka, the Barvon household had resorted to offering their son as a companion to a high-ranking young noble to keep the family manor. They were neighbours but high perimeter walls meant they hardly saw each other until this day. Radu would rather be sneaking off to fly kites on the hillside with his elder brother, not watching a moron tripping over kite string.

Finally, he had enough. "Hey, you need a tail for that thing!"

"A tail?" Ion blinked, puzzled. He had no idea what his companion meant. "We need some string and rags…" Radu explained.

"Got it!" Ion ripped out his bootlaces and ripped up his silk handkerchief. "Not long enough," Radu shrugged and took out a length of kite-string from his pocket. "You can't fly a kite with a teeny tail"

Five minutes later, the kite, with its new tail dipped and hit the lawn. "What happened?" Ion asked. "No wind," Radu groaned. The wind had died down in the garden suddenly. With it died all hope of sending their kite airborne. "There's wind!" Ion pointed up to the highest garret window of his home, where the Fortuna family flag flapped merrily in the breeze. "Let's go fly a kite on the roof!"

"You can't fly kites from the roof!" Radu blanched but Ion was already pulling him into the house. A quick trip up numerous stairways and out the garret window, they were on the roof.

"You can see the_ whole_ city!" Ion exclaimed and leaned over the edge. "Yikes!" he waved his arms franticly as his foot slipped on the slates. "Watch it!" Radu grabbed Ion before he could fall off the roof. "That was close," he panted, heart thumping against his chest as he held Ion close. "Can we fly the kite now?" Ion asked, his earlier near-tragic misadventure forgotten.

"Master Ion! Please get back in here before you hurt yourself!" A frightened nanny shrilled.

* * *

"We never got to fly the kite from the roof then…" Ion mused. They were in Radu's garret study, overlooking the silent street below.

"Your nannies would get into trouble if you ended up a mangled mess on the lawn," Radu chuckled. Those were the days. Ion grinned mischievously and climbed onto the sill, kite in hand. "Let's fly it now from your roof!"

"Ion, are you sure this is a good idea?" Falling from his roof onto the cobblestone street might not be fatal for them, but it would still be extremely painful. "Relax! You know I'm used to hopping about on roofs!" Ion was standing on the steep roof outside his window. Radu had no choice but to follow. Ion held the kite aloft. It was a windy night and a sudden gust caught him off guard. Ion teetered dangerously as the kite was wrenched free from his grasp. "Our kite!" Ion franticly made a grab for it, overbalancing dangerously and slipping off the edge.

"Ion!" Radu dived desperately for his friend. He caught Ion's hand and hauled him to safety. For a while, they sat there on the slates, Radu's arms holding his childhood friend close. Ion was gasping from the shock. Unnoticed, the runaway kite flew off into the dark night.

Finally, Ion spoke. "Radu?"

"Yes, Ion?" Radu pulled Ion closer. His knees did not feel strong enough to climb back into the house yet. "I knew I made the right choice when I asked Grandmother not to send you away back then… You saved me again…" _Little moron…_ Radu thought and ruffled his friend's hair fondly. "What are friends for, right?"

Ion giggled playfully and lay his head against Radu's chest. "Radu, I'm glad we going to Cartago together tomorrow night," Ion chirped. _What?_ Radu felt his heart crash to his boots. He could hear Isaak's voice purring in his ear as if he were standing right next to him. _Kill the envoy, muddy up the water for the Empire and Vatican. _Ion's the envoy. It was too late. He could not stand up to Dietrich, much less von Kampfer…

"Too bad about the kite, Radu. Coming in?" Ion had wriggled out of his arms while he was lost in a daze. The blond was now perched on the window sill of the warm, welcoming study. "C-coming…" Radu replied.

* * *

It was a whim that brought him past the final resting place of his best friend before meeting up with Father Abel. He had not expected to see that kite again since the night the wind blew it away from Radu's roof. Yet there it was. Faded, battered by wind and rain, tangled in the branches of the ancient yew tree just outside the Barvon family crypt. Its bootlace and silk rag tail hung down from the leaves. He had not seen it there when he was attending Radu's wake. Granted, it was dark that night, and he had other matters on his mind then.

On a whim, he leapt agilely into the tree and untangled the kite. He leapt down from the tree with the kite in hand.

_Now what? _The growing breeze tugged playfully at his blond hair, reminding him of the way Radu often ruffled his hair. If only he could feel Radu's fingers mussing up his hair again, hear his irate voice scolding him when he got himself into a scrape, his hearty laughter at the jokes they shared… The tears came.

"You moron…" Ion angrily blinked them away. He was no longer a little boy, no longer as naïve as he was when he first set off for Cartago. It was time to let go. Ion let the wind seize the kite, sweeping it up into the evening sky, heading towards the lake the hillside overlooked. Without a backward glance, he continued plodding up the hillside, towards the ruins of the Fortuna mausoleum.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Kites have been around for a very long time in many places of the world. Flat diamond-shaped kites were flown in China more than 2000 years ago. This is the design most people would be familiar with. Actually, it is possible for a kite to fly without a tail. Many designs do not require a tail, even though it may be possible that a tail adds stability. Kites have also been used for military purposes since ancient times for signalling troops and reconnaissance.

Finally. It took forever to get this down. Kites and little boys, there is something very nostalgic about that imagery. Oh readers, please do not fly kites from roofs!


	3. Piano Keys and Porcelain Dolls

Disclaimer: I do not own Trinity Blood or its characters.

This will be a series of viewpoints into various relationships in the series.

A change of scenery to Albion.

* * *

**Piano Keys and Porcelain Dolls**

Vanessa Walsh pondered her options again. The show of bravado she had put up before Paddy and the others was only a veneer to hide her insecurities. She was confused, no, scared, more than she had ever been in decades. The Count was fixed in his thinking, too used to pandering to the Westminster dogs who feed off the fat of the Ghetto to even see the truth. She had seen the truth. He had long been reduced to an obedient guard dog for the royal household of Albion.

Even now, as she peered through the doorway, he reminded her of a privileged golden retriever as he pored over his documents while sipping Earl Grey tea from his Wedgewood teacup. The tea set was a gift from her. The late Queen Bridget, or Bridie, as her brother called her when they thought they were alone. Did she feel jealous? She too had enjoyed rare privileges for an Albionian Methuselah under the old queen. Maybe that was why she had not dared to take this step while the queen lived.

Shaking her head, she returned to her room and put on a heavy metal CD, jacking the volume to the max.

Virgil was draining the last of his tea when the blast of heavy metal rock caused him to jump almost out of his skin. The tea cup shattered on the tabletop. "Vanessa! Please! Keep it down!" Virgil complained over the din. She ignored him. Virgil rolled his eyes and wondered why Vanessa couldn't listen to Chopin or Bach, or at least turn the volume to a more acceptable level. "Vanessa!"

This time she yelled some obscure curse through the door. Virgil groaned he had no time for this. Vanessa was being difficult, as she always was. He had to plan the tour for the Pope's coming visit to Albion.

Scooping up his documents, the count of Manchester retreated to the sanctuary of the downstairs room in hope that the unearthly racket would not reach there. The heavy door and thick walls should muffle the sound. Switching on the light, Virgil found himself looking at the assorted dust-covered items stored away over the decades. He dusted the piano seat and spread his papers on the grand piano he used to play in his younger days.

On a whim, he placed lifted the lid and brushed against the keys. The soft twinkling brought back memories.

* * *

"Shut that brat up!"

"Victor! Stop shouting! You're scaring her!" Virgil winced as Baby Vanessa screeched like a banshee. After a heated exchange, his father stormed out the door while his mother fled to her room, leaving the squalling baby forgotten in her basket on the settee.

With a sigh, the youth lifted the basket and plopped it on the piano seat next to him where he could keep an eye on her during his piano practice. With a shrug, he started on Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. Strangely, the baby quieted down. He thought she had finally cried herself to sleep. Instead, he was surprised to see his baby sister wide-eyed looking at the piano keys.

"You like that?" he asked. The baby gurgled with delight and waved her arms. "Let's play Beethoven's _For Elise_," Virgil flipped open his music score.

* * *

Yes, Vanessa was a sensitive baby with a fondness for piano music. It was only during her teenage years that she took a liking to heavy metal rock, clubbing and hanging out with the wrong crowd. What went wrong? Virgil wondered. Vanessa now hardly listened to him. Virgil turned his attention back to the Pope's visit.

Upstairs, Vanessa reviewed her own plans for the visit. Was there sufficient firepower to overpower the Ghetto security and any security detail who might accompany the Pope? Would they be forced to engage in a shootout? She fluffed up her pillow and lay back, staring at her dresser. Her room was a mess, she admitted. Assorted clothing items lay scattered over the floor. She decided to pick up the dirty clothes. Opening the closet, she stuffed the lot in.

An opened packet of condoms sat on her beside table. With a curse, she swept the condoms into her drawer. _If her brother saw that… _She spotted a faded decades-old school jacket between the bed and the nightstand.

Vanessa picked up the jacket and saw the doll lying under it. A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she picked up the doll and let the jacket fall back to the floor. It was a porcelain doll with blue glass eyes, rosebud lips and blond curls. There was a hairline crack down the side of its face, from when she had thrown it across the hall in a fit of anger after a quarrel with her brother.

* * *

"Happy birthday, Vanessa…" Virgil sang and presented her with the china doll. The twelve-year-old stared at the doll's china face with its painted rosebud lips. "I'm too old for dolls," she declared solemnly.

"But Mother liked dolls. She made some of them herself…" Mother had left an entire room of dolls and Vanessa was sick of those dusty lace, glass eyes and porcelain faces. "But I don't like dolls!" Vanessa retorted. "You don't understand me!" She flung the doll across the hall.

"Alright, Vanessa… what do you want for your birthday?" Virgil gritted his teeth, trying to keep his patience as he retrieved the doll. Numerous governesses and tutors have suggested spanking to deal with his sister's increasing rebellious streak, but Virgil had never laid a hand on his sister. Probably because he was never comfortable hitting a child, especially a girl who was orphaned at the tender age of one month. Vanessa went through her governesses and tutors at an alarming rate and Virgil had recently put her into the Ghetto Public School where she continued to be an incorrigible student.

"Nothing!" Her outbursts never made any sense to him and he could never seem to placate her when she was being difficult.

"Very well then…" Virgil replaced the doll on the table next to the birthday cake and started for the door. "Goodbye."

"Wait!" _Too late._ The door shut behind Virgil. Her brother had gone to work. She was alone in the apartment. Her gamble had backfired. She only wanted him to stay behind with her. _Virgil… you moron…_

* * *

"Virgil?" Vanessa turned down her hi-fi volume and stuck her head out of the room. The corridor was empty. Walking to the study, she saw only his empty work desk. She guessed he must have gone back to his office at the plant. She wanted to go out, meet her friends, knock back a few drinks and maybe get laid… anything to get out of her empty home. Maybe she should contact Paddy and check on that order of AK-47 rifles and Tommys for the Pope's visit. Throwing on her leather jacket, she called Paddy.

Unbeknownst to her, Virgil was still in the downstairs room pondering if His Sanctity would find the factory's computer chip line boring or if he needed to request for extra security detail from Captain Spencer. He flinched at the sound of the front door slamming shut behind Vanessa. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't understand his sister, even after all those years living in the same apartment.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

The Walshes are a pair of very estranged siblings. I hope I captured a plausible snapshot of a strained family situation. Little Vanessa is a bit like the teenager crying out for attention from Pa and Ma. Virgil always seemed so calm and collected, until Vanessa's little kidnap attempt. She probably deserved that slap in the anime.


	4. The Gold Cross

Disclaimer: I do not own Trinity Blood or its characters.

This will be a series of viewpoints into various relationships in the series.

A break from the Methuselah POV

* * *

**The Gold Cross**

Hugue never really thought about it much. It was just a little gold cross he had for as long as he could recall. He wore his about his neck 24 hours a day, every day of the year. Every de Watteau wore one, his parents, his brothers, all long dead and buried. Even little Anais had one. Simple, unadorned crosses, to be worn about the neck with a piece of cord. Anais… Hugue wondered where his sister was now, what she was doing…

"Father, the patient…" A soft-footed nurse called out gently. Hugue looked up from where he was sitting, a hand going to the cross about his neck. _Had he been too late?_ "She's lost a fair bit of blood, but she'll be alright. You better have your wounds seen to…"

Hugue shook his head and waved her concern aside. He had been hurt worse before. The nurse, a sweet-faced nun, shook her head, clucking her tongue. "Those are nasty wounds, Father. Perhaps I better get some water to wash them out a bit…" With a rustle of starched skirts, she was off. She returned shortly with a ewer of lukewarm water, ointment and bandages. With deft hands, she set about the task of cleaning his wounds.

Hugue did not protest. Instead he looked down at the cross in his hand, reminiscing…

* * *

"Oh Brother Hugue… what ever should we do with you?" Young Anais applied a cold compress on her older brother's swollen wrist. Hugue balanced an ice-pack on his black eye. Clucking her tongue like a mother hen, the nine-year-old glowered at their older brothers. "Father will be furious!" The older de Watteau boys simply laughed and patted Anais' blond curls in turn. Hugue glared daggers at them when the eldest tried to treat him the same way.

"Don't worry, Hugue. One day, you will be big enough to play at wrestling with them," Anais soothed. Hugue turned away. Being the youngest son was tough enough without being constantly teased for his almost girlish good looks. The final straw came when Gareth remarked over too much mead that Hugue looked more like a girl than Anais. Hugue flew across the picnic table at his brother then. Then brothers Gullimard, Michal and Franz joined the fray before Uncle Jacques broke it up. Still, it was nothing that could not be mistaken for a spot of roughhousing at the de Watteau family's annual gathering.

For now, the two young siblings sat under the shady elm. Anais fanned herself idly with her bonnet. She rocked a small basket that gurgled and hiccupped at her feet.

"What's that? A kitten?" Hugue asked. Anais was partial to kittens, puppies and any young creature that needed tender loving mothering. "No," she bent down and lifted the baby which had been so well-hidden by the myriad blankets and pillows. "I think her name's Agnes or Angelique… Uncle Jacques let me watch her a while."

Some distance off, Uncle Jacques danced a jig with his rosy-cheeked little wife. Their infant daughter gurgled and clapped her tiny hands as she sat in Anais' lap. Dark brown hair peeked out from her bonnet. Blue baby eyes stared out at the activity about them in wonder as she sucked on her thumb. Then those eyes saw the sun glinting off the gold cross. Immediately, the young child reached out with a chubby hand for the cross.

"Yuck! Baby drool!" Hugue backed away and fell off the bench. Anais and the infant laughed at the sight of Hugue on the grass. The boy had no choice but to laugh along with the girls. He spent the rest of that lazy afternoon sitting next to Anais under the elm, taking turns to rock their young cousin and sing to her. Until Uncle Jacques came to take his little girl home.

"Uncle, when can I get my sword from your forge?" Hugue asked. Jacques forged the blade weapons of the clan as their swordsmith. That day, he had just presented Hugue's eldest brother with a fine sword. Jacques only cradled his girl and patted the boy's head with a smile.

"Why do you need a blade so soon, my boy?"

"You gave my brother Gullimard one. And he is not much older than me, " Hugue stuck out his chest and tried to look older than he really was.

"Gullimard is twenty. Some day soon, he will find a nice mademoiselle to start a family with. You are still a boy. Come to me again when you have someone important you need to protect."

"I do. Anais," Hugue replied quickly.

"I can take care of myself, thank you!" Anais retorted with a little toss of her head. "Some day you'll get a wife, then you'll have someone to protect!" She placed a small hand on her pistol in its holster under her apron. All the de Watteau children were taught to handle firearms from eight onwards. Jacques laughed. His daughter played with her father's cross. Jacque's cross was a dark bronze colour, presumably from working over the forge. The infant cooed and stuck one end of it into her mouth while Jacques looked Hugue straight in the eyes.

"Gullimard's blade is much too heavy for you Hugue. Your brother is a big man with strong arms from years of training and battle. Come to me when you're sixteen, and I will forge one to suit you. Till then, pray to the Good Lord for guidance and strength, for there is more to being a soldier of the Cross than a keen blade."

* * *

"No need for the bandages, Sister," Hugue murmured. His wounds stung from the antiseptic. The nurse nodded and handed him the bottle of ointment. "Clean them daily, Father. The wounds should heal soon…" Another set of scars for his battle-worn body.

_Agnes de Watteau, or was it Angelique? _Hugue wondered what became of that infant with the dark hair. Had she lived, a survivor of the clan like him? Or had she perished in that great massacre. Uncle Jacques was killed, as was his wife… Hugue only found out about their deaths when he sought his uncle out in Antwerp. His sword, originally crafted by his uncle for his eldest brother, had served Hugue well for years.

"She is still asleep…" the nurse warned. Hugue paused. He could see her through the open door of the ward. Agnes lay sleeping with her hair dark against the white of the pillow. Her neck was bare. Hugue cursed himself. When they fled from that hellhole, he left Agnes' cross behind. He had seen the sad little piece of metal lying there in the dust and it never occurred to him to pick it up. He looked down at the sleeping girl. She looked incredibly child-like. Tenderly, he pulled the blankets up to her chin.

_Someday, you'll find someone to protect… _Anais' voice rang in his ears, a ghost of the past.

_Pray to the Good Lord for guidance… _Uncle Jacques. The sword forged by those hands had saved Agnes, but it could no longer do so. In the hospital chapel, Hugue did something he had not done since the day his family was brutally snatched from him. He prayed.

He made a silent appeal to the God he long accused of forsaking his family that dark bloody night. With a soft sigh, he snapped the cord that tied his cross around his neck. It was a poor farewell for the young sister who had risked her life for his sake… For Agnes' safety, he could not linger here.

* * *

Agnes was dreaming. She dreamt of her father, broad-shouldered, tall and blond. He carried her in his strong arms and she felt safe. She reached out for the gold cross he wore. A girl with blond curls and a bonnet sang her rhymes. A blond-haired boy fell off a bench under the old elm. She laughed in her sleep. It was an old memory, one long-buried. Sleepily, she opened her eyes and thought she still dreamt. For on her pillow was a little gold cross…

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I am not sure when babies start forming coherent memories. Two or three years might be a plausible time. I made the cross thing seem almost regimental for the de Watteaus. Since they are supposedly a military family, I let Hugue and his sister have experience with firearms young. The crucifix and rosary are Catholic. Non-Catholic Christians simply use the cross.

I am laying the memories thick on Hugue here. With his sister, uncle and little Agnes.


	5. Kittens and Cats' Eyes

Disclaimer: I do not own Trinity Blood or its characters.

This will be a series of viewpoints into various relationships in the series.

**Kittens and Cats' Eyes**

The Deputy Head of the Secret Service pored over the reports. _The Church was muscling in on Cyprus. Radical fractions were running about in Bohemia._ And there was that other matter… It was going to be a busy week for him. He needed to leave the office for a while, get some fresh air to clear his head. "Your Excellency!" the young baron snapped to attention as Suleyman passed him in the corridor. Suleyman nodded as he acknowledged the youth. The Baron of Kabul was young and eager, fresh out of the Academy, new blood for the service.

Faced with his younger subordinate, he felt weary and old. Three hundred years was a long time to be in the Imperial Service. He threw on his cloak and stepped out, waving aside his servant. He needed to be alone. He strolled to the stables and saddled his horse. "Mew!" A soft sound came from the corner of the stall. Kittens, a pair of black ones. "Mew!" Suleyman's eyebrow twitched as a ball of ginger fur bounded out of hiding and started rubbing a whiskered cheek against his boot. The horse snorted and pawed at the earth.

"What have we here?" Suleyman asked no one in particular as he picked up the tiny creature by the scruff of its neck. "Meow!" the tawny orange kitten yowled its displeasure. It was old enough for its eyes to change from a kitten's smoky blue to cat's amber-gold. The kitten clawed at the air, hissing and spitting angrily. The Deputy Head laughed at the creature's antics. He placed the kitten on his saddle-horn and away from the hoofs of the horse. The Duke's horse was a large Arabian stallion, well capable of dealing out a deadly kick to the creature.

The kitten twitched her ears once on her new perch. Sitting down, she proceeded to wash her face with her paw, unperturbed by how high she was off the ground.

"You're just like Asta, aren't you?" His thoughts turned to his absent niece.

* * *

"_Sara! Scher! Wait for me!" _the shrill voice of a young girl drew his attention away from the map he was surveying. He glanced out of the window. On the garden path below his study window were two young girls of about five, both dark-skinned and raven-haired. Both toted tiny picnic baskets. A third was sprinting down the path. Unlike her companions, this newcomer was fair and blond. She toted an oversized picnic hamper.

"What's in there?" one of the girls asked. Out of the basket popped a furry little head. Sara and Scher both blanched. "Astaroshe… that is…"

"Isn't he cute?" Asta happily picked up the yowling leopard cub. It was one of his leopards', possibly Sheba's… The duke's suspicions were confirmed when his pet leopard stepped out of the bushes behind Asta, fangs bared. Puzzled by the hissing behind her, Asta turned round. "Asta! That's Sheba's cub. RUN!" Sara yelled. Sara and Scher both screeched like banshees and fled, leaving overturned picnics in their wake. Sheba pounced. In a flash, the duke vaulted out of his window.

"Asta? You alright?" he asked as he nursed a bleeding forearm. Sheba sulked away, puzzled and annoyed at her master's intervention. A shaken Asta nodded. "Go on, return the cub to Sheba…" he coaxed. The little girl shook her head. "No, she's fierce. She leaves him alone when she goes hunting … She doesn't care, just like my mother!"

"Asta," Suleyman took the cub from a teary-eyed Asta and held the little creature in his hand. The cub bounded out of his grasp and ran over to nuzzle his mother. After a few attempts to ignore the cub, Sheba relented and showered loving licks on her cub. "Lucky kitten," Asta pouted. "My mother is always away…"

"Why do suppose your mother is away this time, Asta?" Suleyman asked gently. His forearm had healed already. Both his leopard and cub slinked off. "I dunno. She never tells me anything…"

"Asta, since your father's death, your mother has been busy running the estate…"

"But I want to help! I can help, can't I?" Asta insisted. Suleyman smiled. "In due time, Asta…" he looked up the tree where Sara had sought refuge. Scher was nowhere in sight, possibly she had run off to her mother. "Would you like to help me in the study?" Both girls nodded. A servant would clear up the mess in the garden later. The duke spent a rather enjoyable afternoon with his two nieces poring over maps and telling them tales of his travels to various cities in the empire.

* * *

"Come along now," he tucked the kitten into his coat front on a whim. The kitten wriggled free and curled round his shoulder. Laughing, Suleyman took the reins. "Suit yourself." The Countess of Babylon, Sara, looked out of her window and was pleasantly surprised to see her uncle riding past her place with a ginger kitten on his shoulder.

* * *

The Outside was nothing like the Empire. Astaroshe Asran had to admit that she was homesick. Venice was full of lovely art and buildings like her uncle said, but it was also full of thieves and pickpockets. She had just found the time to catch some shut-eye before her Church contact showed up. Except her mattress was lumpy and the party outside too noisy. She fought the urge to toss a few bolts out into the street below with her spear. Wearily, she pulled her body over to the bathroom.

The reflection in the cracked mirror did not flatter her in the least bit. She had smashed it earlier that day. She was pale and red-eyed from lack of sleep. She wanted to go after her target immediately. Kill him if possible. She would love to rip Endres limb from limb… _Maybe a bit of alcohol will take the edge off…_ she reached into her trench coat for her vodka bottle. It was a bit worn out and had been mended in many places but she considered it lucky. Hadn't she completed her first mission in Byzantine undercover in that? She hoped her current mission would be as successful. Too late she recalled that she had emptied the bottle already. Instead, her fingers brushed against something round and cool in the very bottom of the pocket.

_A cats' eye lucky charm._ "Uncle," Asta whispered. The pangs of homesickness struck.

* * *

_Imperial Service HQ. _

Mirka Fortuna barely glanced up from her desk as the deputy head gave a dressing-down to the newest recruit to the Imperial Service. "Astaroshe Asran, this is your first mission and I do not approve of you running off without back-up."

"I've captured the killer, sir! He was a Terran and there was no need for back-up," Astaroshe snapped to attention. She was still dressed in her undercover clothes with copious amounts of her blood staining them. Their suspect had been armed with a machine gun. The duke shook his head. "Do you realize that if he had used silver bullets or if one of those bullets had struck a vital spot…" he left it hanging. Many Methuselahs had met their ends underestimating their Terran targets.

"I'm sorry," a redness rose to her cheeks. She would probably get fired or sent back to the Academy in shame. "We don't want you to get hurt… Here, take this," Suleyman reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a cats' eye charm. "For luck. You probably used up all yours in this mission. Next time, call for back-up when it's too dangerous for you to take on alone."

"Thank you, sir!" she slipped the small token of luck into her pocket.

Coughing awkwardly, the duke took out a file from the stack on his table. "For your next mission, you will be working with Duchess Mirka Fortuna and her team…." He started briefing her on her next mission. For the next few missions, she carried them out under the careful supervision of her supervisors and occasional backup from the Yeniceri units.

* * *

The day came when she was judged capable of going on solo missions. This was her first mission Outside. She slipped on the long trench coat, checking to see if the mended bullet holes showed. Satisfied that her tailor had done an excellent job, she pondered on what souvenir she should get. She was shaken out of her reverie by the sound of the bell. Peering through the peephole, she was confronted with a bespectacled priest with white hair.

_The Church sent a dork. Maybe her luck has run out. _"Yoo-hoo, anyone in?" Father Abel called out and rang the bell again.

Asta reached into her pocket. The coolness of the cat's eye reassured her. _For luck,_ her uncle had said. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, ready to face whatever awaited her in the night.

**Author's Notes:**

I understand from recent developments in the manga that Suleyman had a ward, an orphaned niece named Shahrazad, whom he took with him during his travels. He is quite the caring uncle and like a father figure to her. Unfortunately for her, she got implicated in that attempt to assassinate the Empress, so she is currently on the run. Asta struck me as being in a major bad mood for the Venice episode. Abel looks a bit like a dork in the manga.

Asta has a tigress named Venus in the manga. I read that cheetahs were used for hunting in the Byzantium Empire and in ancient Egypt. Cats' eyes, like many gems, were believed to bring luck or avert evil from their wearers in the Middle Ages.


End file.
